


A wolf in sheep's clothing

by Pansexualweirdo



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Arguing, BAMF Jaskier, Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotionally Constipated Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Geralt of Rivia loves Jaskier, Hurt/Comfort, Jaskier loves Geralt of Rivia, Love Confessions, M/M, Major Character Injury, Making Out, Making Up, Mentioned Roach (The Witcher), Mild Blood, Monsters, Mutual Pining, My First Work in This Fandom, No Spoilers, One Shot, Roach Has The Braincell Here, Sirens, Soft Jaskier | Dandelion, Takes Place Literally Whenever, for like two seconds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-26
Updated: 2020-02-26
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:00:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22911373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pansexualweirdo/pseuds/Pansexualweirdo
Summary: Excerpt from fic: "Staring down at the ground in some sort of trance, the bard almost didn’t catch the faint humming the wind carried his way. But the voice said humming belonged to was unmistakably Geralt’s, low and deep, so Jaskier looked around to locate him, confused but hesitantly hopeful.There, only a few yards away, by the edge of a lake in a clearing of the woods, sat the witcher, humming a familiar tune to a song Jaskier never thought he’d hear Geralt hum in a million years."Or; After Jaskier and Geralt have a fight, Jaskier sees a siren, and the siren imitates a certain white wolf. Angst and hurt/comfort ahoy! No spoilers for the series or games, so you can rest easy. Enjoy!
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 22
Kudos: 476





	A wolf in sheep's clothing

It was shortly after yet another argument that Jaskier helplessly circled the same area that Geralt left him minutes ago, stomping rather than pacing, muttering insults about the white wolf beneath his breath. This time, the reason for their fight was a silly one, for Jaskier had once again gotten in trouble for bedding another man’s wife. And Geralt, ever the gentleman and faithful companion, had to step in and save his bard. For what he himself made out to be ‘the hundredth time’. Although he tended to be a tad dramatic at times.

Okay, so Jaskier could see why Geralt wasn’t happy with him. He really should stop and ask whatever fair lady he’s seducing whether or not she’s available before attempting to woo her. But there really was no need to yell at Jaskier because of that. After all, it all came down to a lack of communication. Something the witcher could learn a thing or two about.

And frankly, it was something Jaskier could work on as well.

So after the pair’s dispute, with Geralt calling Jaskier irresponsible and reckless like a disappointed mother, and the bard hissing back that he didn’t need Geralt’s protection, Geralt had taken the hint and saddled Roach, riding off and out of what felt like Jaskier’s life. See, they both knew Jaskier’s words were a blatant lie, but they were also both far too stubborn to call after the other.

This resulted in Jaskier silently panicking as he trotted around the same patch of shrubbery in a loop, torn between traveling far, far away as to avoid the witcher for the rest of his miserable life, and running after his friend to beg for his forgiveness. His mind was racing, screaming at him to choose the latter, but his body was saying the opposite.

Jaskier felt the anxiety welling up inside his chest with every minute that passed, and he stopped in his tracks to catch his breath before he’d pass out. Suddenly, he was acutely aware of how alone he really was, in the middle of a dark forest with more creatures that wanted to kill him than he could count on his fingers and his lute as his only defense. And, believe it or not, he wasn’t too fond of the idea of breaking his lute in two in an attempt to fend off a monster that would do the same to him.

He was royally fucked.

Staring down at the ground in some sort of trance, the bard almost didn’t catch the faint humming the wind carried his way. But the voice said humming belonged to was unmistakably Geralt’s, low and deep, so Jaskier looked around to locate him, confused but hesitantly hopeful.

There, only a few yards away, by the edge of a lake in a clearing of the woods, sat the witcher, humming a familiar tune to a song Jaskier never thought he’d hear Geralt hum in a million years.

But the bard failed to see the peculiarity in this, as well as why Geralt would be sitting here by himself, unguarded and unarmed, because Geralt was _scintillating_. His hair was tied up beautifully, reflecting the paleness of the moonlight in its silken smooth strands. His face, usually ashen with pain or accompanied by the furrowed brow, was in a relaxed expression of bliss, his eyes shut. Jaskier was drawn to him almost like a magnet, his lute left forgotten on the ground as he drew himself nearer to the wolf. He was careful not to rustle any leaves or step on any twigs in his path, not wanting to disturb the moment of peace Geralt was having. Jaskier had never seen his friend quite this relaxed before.

As he got closer, he could better see Geralt’s face. The shadows his eyelashes cast across his pale skin, the slight parting of soft, full lips. He was positively breathtaking.

Not that he usually wasn’t. And see, that was the thing. Geralt was gorgeous, in any shape and form of the word, but Jaskier normally had an easier time ignoring that fact when the man was slinging insults at him. He was, generally, better at hiding his attraction, his _fondness_ for the witcher. That’s mostly what flirting with the married ladies was for, after all. A distraction from Jaskier’s painfully obvious pining for the one thing he couldn’t have. The one _person_ he couldn’t have.

Striding even closer to his far-too-beautiful friend, Jaskier could see that Geralt had no boots on and his feet were in the water, reaching his knees. His skin sparkled beneath the surface, his legs gently swinging back and forth in the rhythm of his slow humming. Jaskier could recognize that tune anywhere, if it so was played on a Jiahu flute. It was his first song for the witcher, the one that started it all.

Ignoring the fact that something was very clearly wrong, what with Geralt practically dangling himself as bait for whatever dangerous beasts may roam the waters beneath, or rather too enamored with the picture before him for it to cross his mind, Jaskier was now no longer than a few feet away from his witcher, gaping at him like a fish in need of water. Geralt was bewitching (excuse the pun), peaceful. Unaware of the bard’s presence.

Until he _wasn’t_. Suddenly, golden eyes were staring back at blue ones, hitching Jaskier’s breath. The witcher’s humming had now stopped and he carefully studied Jaskier, his face fixed in an expression that wouldn’t tell the bard a thing. Was he mad? Was he relieved? Jaskier had no idea.

“Geralt,” he exhaled, annoyed that his brain and mouth wouldn’t cooperate.

He had many questions, and when Geralt spoke, a million more of them popped up.

“You were watching me.”

It came out hoarse, dare Jaskier say _sultry_? and was that a _smirk_ curling at the corners of his lips? Color dusting his cheeks, Jaskier shifted his weight from foot to foot, wanting to look away from Geralt because of his own embarrassment, but he was unable to, transfixed on those sharp, narrowed eyes.

“I thought you had left here by now… Where’s Roach?”

“Resting,” came the response, too fast for the bard’s liking. Geralt never went far from his steed, why would he now?

The feeling that something was off grew stronger by the second now, clawing at Jaskier like a manticore would at its prey. But he was glued to the spot, watching Geralt’s smile turn sinister. The lack of emotion in his eyes was disturbing in all kinds of ways, but it was the lack of warmth and humanity that scared Jaskier the most. His blood ran cold when a terrifying realization hit him over the head; this wasn’t Geralt of Rivia.

“Come. Sit with me.”

 _No_ , Jaskier thought, but his feet were already walking him over to the not-witcher on their own accord. He prayed to the Gods above for something to break the spell this creature had on him when its Geralt-like hands reached out toward him, and it seemed that they heard him, because just then, a voice called out to him.

“Jaskier! Get away from the water!”

“Geralt!” cried the bard, finally able to move on his own again, and he turned his head to see the witcher, the _real_ witcher, running toward him, sword in hand. It all fucked with his head, to put it lightly.

An ear-splitting, blood-chilling screech sounded in Jaskier’s ear, nearly turning him deaf, and when he looked at not-Geralt, the creature’s true nature was revealed. It was now nothing but a hideous beast, its clawed appendages grazing his skin, which had him dodging them, jumping out of their way to flee. But the monster had gotten a hold of his foot - its claws digging into his skin, making him sob - and was dragging him back toward the lake, and Jaskier struggled with every atom in his body to get out of its grasp, blunt fingernails digging at grass and dirt. When the claws around - and _inside_ _of_ \- his leg didn’t budge, Jaskier used his free foot to kick it, grounding his boot into it repeatedly, which seemed to do some damage as it got weaker, limbs curling in towards its deformed body. Jaskier called Geralt’s name, and sure enough, the witcher came to his rescue. His sword came down between Jaskier and the beast, successfully severing its limb off and drawing an ear-piercing shriek out of it.

The noise paralyzed Jaskier, but Geralt, almost immune to his enemies fighting tactics, only faltered for a moment, muscling through the pain and going back to fighting the beast valiantly. the blade of his sword clung loudly as it struck against the creature’s claws, fending them off himself. Jaskier clutched at his ears, fighting his body’s immobility as he watched the battle helplessly, his heart leaping into his throat when the beast slung Geralt’s sword out of his hand, its claws coming down across the man’s chest. Hissing, Geralt cast an Igni spell to temporarily fend the creature off, and Jaskier found his strength again, fueled entirely by rage toward the entity that hurt his witcher as he grabbed Geralt’s sword and aimed for the creature’s head, drilling it into it with a “Hyah!”

With a last, nauseating scream, the beast fell lifeless into the water, sinking to the bottom of the lake and leaving bubbles floating up to the surface, and Geralt’s blood-splattered sword hit the ground, as did the bard, overcome by shock. He blinked at his trembling hands and then looked up at Geralt, who radiated pride, the corner of his mouth slightly raised at the sight of the stunned bard.

Yup. This was definitely Geralt of Rivia. The real deal. The man who could turn Jaskier into putty in his hands, who made the bard glad he was already sitting down, else he would fall upon seeing his smile.

“I would yell at you, but that was rather impressive,” gruffed the witcher, extending a hand out to help Jaskier up, as if all was forgotten, and Jaskier took it, bashfully returning his smile.

“Wait, no. I changed my mind, I _am_ going to yell at you. What the _**hell**_ were you thinking?!”

It turned out that all was _not_ forgotten. However, Jaskier could never tell him what he saw, or rather _who_ he saw. He looked down at the ground, muttering an “I wasn’t.”

“Clearly,” replied Geralt, making Jaskier wince at the icy tone in his voice. Then, a large hand grazed his shoulder and the witcher added, softer: “But I’m glad you’re safe.”

Jaskier winced as his leg throbbed, dripping with crimson from where the monster had wounded him, but it was nothing compared to the gashes in Geralt’s chest.

“Sweet Melitele, Geralt, you’re really hurt,” he mulled, stepping forward into Geralt’s personal space, but the witcher didn’t move.

“I’ve been through worse. You’re gonna limp with that,” Geralt helpfully pointed out, gesturing to the bard’s injured calf, and Jaskier swallowed, his throat dry. Guilt was eating away at him, this was the _second_ time Geralt had saved him this evening and the bard was planning to repay him for it.

“Let me patch you up?”

It was a simple enough question, but you never knew with this witcher. Jaskier expected an ‘I don’t need your help’, but instead, the response came out in a “Hmm.” of approval. He beamed at Geralt, already feeling better. 

* * *

“It got you good, huh? I’m so sorry you had to get involved… _again_ ,” muttered Jaskier, cleaning Geralt’s wounds carefully.

They were already healing up quite nicely, a sign of the witcher’s everlasting determination. There were gonna be scars, but the expression of indifference on Geralt’s features told the bard he already forgave him.

“I’m sorry I yelled at you. I shouldn’t have left you alone.”

These words had Jaskier pausing his movements, blinking up at the wolf. He was pleasantly surprised that Geralt expressed his emotions for once, flattered because he knew how few people got to experience that. Geralt promptly looked away, clearing his throat to break the silence, and if Jaskier wasn’t mistaken, his cheeks looked a shade darker.

“Finish it up, lark, and I’ll take care of yours before you die of blood poisoning.”

“Will I?” exclaimed Jaskier, the pet name flying over the bard’s head, for he was too worried about his own life to notice it, but from the look of amusement in golden eyes, he could rest easy.

“No.”

Jaskier nudged him in the side, mumbling a “Bastard.” and Geralt must be in a good mood since he allowed a low chuckle to rumble out of his chest. Soon enough, they changed positions, Geralt kneeling down to remove Jaskier’s boot and peel off his sock.

Before tending to their injuries, they had of course found shelter, away from the lake in the mouth of a cave, where Roach guarded them dutifully. Jaskier had his precious lute leaning against the wall, wanting it in eyesight. He couldn’t believe he’d just left it by itself when approaching the beast by the lake.

They had made a small fire to avoid freezing to death, and Geralt had brought blankets. This caused the bard to wonder if the witcher had prepared to stay the night outside. But that was neither here, nor there.

Right now, Jaskier was busy trying not to squirm beneath Geralt’s calloused, skilled hands as they bandaged up his calf, his touch gentle but firm. Jaskier hissed, clenching his teeth and fists to push through the surge of pain traveling up his limb, as well as handling the sight of Geralt of Rivia kneeling between his legs.

“What did you see by the water?” asked Geralt, almost too low for the bard to hear him, but Jaskier was currently hyper-aware of every movement and sound the witcher made.

The question felt like a test, especially paired with the intense look in golden eyes as they stared up at him, waiting. Jaskier swallowed, brought back to the serene Geralt he had seen by the lake, and before he could process the words, they were out of his mouth.

“I saw you.”

And something akin to panic laced with butterflies nested in Jaskier’s stomach when Geralt raised an eyebrow slightly, a knowing, smug smile curling in the corners of his lips.

“It was a siren,” grinned the witcher, sounding far too delighted with the situation.

Now Jaskier was panicking, sweating bullets, stammering out excuses.

“No! T- That _can’t_ be! Aren’t sirens supposed to t- take the form of your deepest des-” but he cut himself off by slapping a hand over his mouth.

Taking a page from Geralt’s book, he uttered a single word to express his regret over ever having been gifted with a voice.

“Fuck.”

“Hmm," grunted Geralt in agreement, but the smile on his face didn’t fade. In fact, he wasn’t standing up and walking away, like Jaskier fully expected him to do. No, instead, he grabbed Jaskier’s wounded leg carefully and brought it up to his face, pressing his lips to the exposed, unharmed skin there. Jaskier swooned with the tenderness of it, not daring to breathe or even _blink_ , afraid that the moment would slip away if he moved.

“Tell me, bard, am I your deepest desire?”

“N- No! I mean, I did see you, but that doesn’t mean-”

“You’re a bad liar,” interrupted the witcher, placing another kiss on Jaskier’s calf, and then another above his knee.

Jaskier’s face burned, his hands aching to pull Geralt up into a messy, passionate kiss, but his brain struggling to catch up with the surreal fact that Geralt might just return his feelings.

“I thought you…” but he trailed off, unsure of how to phrase it.

All this time, he’d thought Geralt was completely uninterested in him, and yet here they were.

“I could say the same about you. How many married ladies have you seduced, Jaskier?” Geralt rumbled deep in his chest, now moving his kisses to Jaskier’s hands, and the bard had to catch his breath, cupping Geralt’s face in his hands.

He watched the light from the fire reflect in the wolf’s amber eyes, alight with passion and so many emotions it was impossible to decipher them all.

“You know, I er- I've seduced a couple of married men, too.”

Geralt’s other brow rose a little at that, joining the other one (which was already waiting for it near his white hairline), but Jaskier didn’t think it would come as a surprise to him.

“Though they’re infinitely harder to woo, I’ll tell you,” he quickly added when he realized that it sounded like he was bragging.

His heart was hammering in his chest, his eyes lidded in anticipation, but his mouth wouldn’t stop talking.

“Besides, I only seduced them because I-... I…” again, he trailed off, what with Geralt’s face being inches away from his own and all.

Their short breaths mingled together, Jaskier could almost _taste_ him.

“Jaskier?”

“Yes?”

“Stop talking.”

“Right,” replied Jaskier in a breath, and the next was stolen by Geralt when he closed the small breadth of space between them and connected their lips together. Jaskier instantly melted against Geralt’s lips, soft and pliant and moving with a purpose, with a fervor that stoked a fire in the bard’s chest and made him bold enough to wrap his legs around Geralt’s waist, crossing them at his ankles and pushing them closer together. His hands disappeared in the witcher’s hair, finding out how soft it was as he threaded it between his fingers.

Geralt licked along the seam of Jaskier’s lips and Jaskier granted him access, a shrill whimper leaving him and being swallowed by the white wolf, who responded with a hum of approval of his own. Geralt’s strong arms wound around Jaskier and held him like he was something precious, and Jaskier craved for more, but then, Geralt pulled away, and the bard found himself almost chasing his lips.

“As much as I’d like to continue this, I do think it should be inside, where we can’t be interrupted by monsters.”

“And where Roach can’t ogle us?” suggested Jaskier with a breathy laugh, and Geralt looked at his trusty steed who was watching them closely. She looked a bit irritated.

“I think she’s wondering what took us so long,” Geralt replied with a small smile, making himself comfortable next to the bard and draping one protective arm around him to keep him close.

Jaskier exhaled a happy sigh, resting his head on Geralt’s broad shoulder, feeling his warmth seeping through his own body. As he loosely hugged Geralt’s arm, watching the star-speckled night sky over the heat of the flames, he couldn’t help but think the siren he met helped him get to where he was right now. Not that he’d let Geralt know that.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, this is my first fic for this fandom, my first attempt at describing a battle scenario and my first time writing about sirens! I've always wanted to write a fic like this, and I thought these boys were perfect for the challenge! I hope it's not too confusing! I am in love with the Witcher series and I've always been obsessed with the games, so I hope I do the characters justice! :) Comments/critiques are warmly welcomed!


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